


Prisoner of History

by CantSpeakFae



Series: Once More With Glitter [12]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Randall doesn't understand why coffee is so complicated but he loves it anyway, Randall's starting to contemplate running away to Brazil, Shock therapy through wedding rings, This is the part that really makes things complicated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 21:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15981074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CantSpeakFae/pseuds/CantSpeakFae
Summary: “That,” Randall says, gesturing at Ronald with his coffee cup and valiantly repressing the urge to just throw the whole thing at him. “Is bullshit.”





	Prisoner of History

“...How’s the coffee?”   
  
Randall’s dark eyes shift, unwillingly, from the window that he’d been gazing out through to the face of the stranger who had just addressed him. He gives him a quick once-over. There’s no question of his affiliation with the Watcher’s Council. Even if Ronald hadn’t been standing right next to him with a scowling face and a bandaged hand, Randall would have caught onto that fact just by the copious amounts of tweed, polished shoes, crisply folded handkerchief in his jacket pocket, and the startling fierceness in his gaze. Not necessarily threatening… just alert. Hyper-aware of Randall’s every movement, missing nothing: not the nearly imperceptible way that Randall’s fingers tightened around the plastic cup he had on the table before him or the way that the corners of his lips twitched downward.   
  
It’s been a long time since anyone took care to notice when Randall was feeling agitated. Even longer since they looked wary of it, rather than assuming the air of a man who could take him in a fight if it came down to it. Randall might’ve been a little impressed… if he wasn’t so sure that he was staring down his new prison sentence.   
  
His gaze darts back away, and he lifts his coffee up to his lips, taking a small sip. It’s horrifyingly sweet and Randall won’t be the least bit surprised if he goes into some kind of “sugar shock” after consuming it… and he really wouldn’t have it any other way.   
  
His voice is low when he finally answers.   
  
“...It’s much more complicated than I remember it being.”  
  
That’s an understatement. Of all the things he’d been blindsided with since his release from his cozy little cage in the basement of a building owned by the Council, nothing had been half as impossible to wrap his head around as the impatient barista in her green apron asking him if he wanted caramel and whipped cream in his coffee.   
  
Of course, he’d said yes, but still. What a question.   
  
“I don’t really get it either. And I don’t, ah, have the same excuse as you.”   
  
A beat of silence. And then -   
  
“May we?”   
  
He gestures to the seats opposite Randall, resting his hand against the back of one of them, but making no move to seat himself or allow Ronald to move past him.   
  
“It’d be weird if you didn’t…”   
  
Randall takes a deep breath after speaking, reminding himself that he’s in a public space, not behind the bars of a cage. He has some control of this environment; there is no hold on him. Breathe in. Breathe out. It doesn’t help, much, but it’s worth trying to control himself before the dormant energy inside of him spikes up. He doesn’t know how the Sleepwalker’s high mixes with caffeine, but he’s not anxious to find out, either.   
  
“I guess you’re right. I’m Deacon, by the way.”   
  
The introduction is meant to put Randall at ease. Deacon slips into the seat opposing him and stares straight ahead. Really inspecting Randall, now, not just looking for obvious weapons or weighing the odds that he’ll be attacked. Ronald sits beside him. His gaze is much colder and Randall meets it, defiantly.   
  
“How’s your hand?” He asks, innocently.   
  
Ronald’s scowl deepens.   
  
“Fine, thank you.” He says, though Randall’s sure that couldn’t be farther from the truth. It looks painful, even through all the bandages, and he smiles with grim satisfaction.  
  
But now’s not exactly the time to revel in the pain of his former captor. There’s a new game, at hand, and Randall’s only interest is figuring out what it is… and how fast he can get Ronald packing back to London. Assuming that he can.  
  
The key to whatever this is, is Deacon. Randall’s sure of it. So, he switches gears and looks at him instead.   
  
“How long have you been in the states… “Deacon”?”   
  
“Three hours. Ronald got in touch with Travers shortly after he was sent to the hospital.”   
  
Deacon glances over at the table near theirs, where a girl sits and seems to be vested in her book. The odds of anyone having any interest in their conversation seem astronomical to Randall, but Deacon’s clearly worried.   
  
“There was some worry that he wouldn’t be able to make it here, himself, so I arrived as soon as I could. You do still have what we need, after all.”   
  
Deacon stops, glancing at Ronald. Clearly unsure of himself and looking for direction, but he older Watcher seems to have next to no interest in speaking. Randall wonders if that has anything to do with the pain he’s in and has half a mind to kiss Rupert, purely out of gratitude, the next time he sees him.   
  
“Do I?”   
  
Randall takes another sip of his coffee, trying to hide his cold humour at the gentle wording of the phrase. Still have what they need? Oh, how lovely. Deacon is making this sound like a negotiation.   
  
“You do,” Ronald says, either not noticing or ignoring Randall’s patronizing tone. “And we have something you need, Randall, whether you want to admit it or not.   
  
“That,” Randall says, gesturing at Ronald with his coffee cup and valiantly repressing the urge to just throw the whole thing at him. “Is bullshit.”   
  
The nearby girl glances away from her book, shooting Randall a scandalized look.  
  
“Is it?” Deacon asked, apparently unphased by Randall’s vehement denial. “Randall, may I be frank?”   
  
“Only if I can be John.”   
  
Deacon doesn’t laugh. Randall hates him a little more for that.   
  
“I had no idea that you existed when I woke up, yesterday and everything I know about you now came from a little file I read on the plane over here. So, there’s clearly a lot about the situation that I’m not clear on, many things that I will have to learn over time… but what I was able to surmise from that file, is that this is the only clear path forward, for you. A man with your “skill set” and past won’t have any other discernible future.”   
  
Randall had already figured that out for himself, funnily enough. This was practically the same speech he’d given Rupert, this morning, only backward. Not the explanation of why he’d willingly martyr himself, but the lure set out over the trap, calling him back.   
  
“A man wouldn’t have this skill set if it weren’t for people like you.” Randall points out, anyway. Just because he knows he’s already lost doesn’t mean he has to make it easy for them. “...And this isn’t all I have.”   
  
“Isn’t?”   
  
Ronald’s voice is harsh when he speaks up, again. Over Deacon, who shoots him a dark look.   
  
“No known living relatives… a fifteen-year gap in your resume. Old friends long since moved on with their lives. And where do you stand with all of this? Where would you go, if not with us?”   
  
“I hear Brazil is nice this time of year.”   
  
It’s...painful to hear his life laid out like that. Harder to hear it verbalized by a man who doesn’t know him than it was to lay it out in his own mind and come to the same conclusion that Ronald is shoving at him. But, that’s the way of planning versus action. It’s always so simple in theory.   
  
Telling Rupert that he’s willing to crawl back into that cage if it means participating in a greater good is a lot different than telling that to Ronald or his friend. His heart races in his chest, and he’s certain that it mostly has nothing to do with the coffee he’s been sipping at.   
  
“...Say I am interested in this job. What exactly does it entail?”   
  
“Nothing you can’t handle.” Deacon says, as though he has any idea what Randall is and is not capable of. Randall doesn’t even know his limits, anymore. “Consider it a public service. You’ll be working alongside the part of our organization that is already stationed here -”  
  
Jesus Christ, deciphering the code that Deacon is talking in is exhausting. Sure, Slayers are secret, but how classified are their names?   
  
“ - and we’ll both be reporting back to the main branch with our findings on how things are… run, here.”   
  
“That’s all?” Randall asks, his voice heavy with skepticism. That can’t be it. He knows Ronald -- that’s not the whole agenda, here. No one would bring a monster from its cage unless there was a much bigger endgame in mind than clearing the streets of Sunnydale from vampires.   
  
“For now.”   
  
Randall straightens up, some, before he can realize what he’s doing, and hopes that his sudden enthusiasm is read as relief that he’s not being asked to do something impossible, rather than glee at knowing that his new “handler” does know more about the Council’s endgame than he’d been letting on.   
  
Whoever Deacon is, wherever he’s come from, and whatever he actually knows about Randall… the only important thing is that he’s in on whatever this all is. And if he knows something, that means Randall can find it out, too.   
  
“What do I have to do?”   
  
“I just told you -”   
  
“I don’t mean for the job. I mean, what exactly are the expectations that I am required to meet to be in the position to do the job?”   
  
Randall glances over at book-girl. Her forehead is pinched like she’s trying very, very hard to decipher what they’re talking about. He wishes she knew just how blissful ignorance can be.   
  
“Ah. That’s a little bit simpler. And more complicated.”   
  
“You can’t really have it both ways like that, Frank.”   
  
Ronald rolls his eyes.   
  
“Are you finished with your coffee? I’d like to carry on with this conversation outside. Get some fresh air.”   
  
Randall, as a matter of a fact, is not finished with his coffee. But he’s probably had as much as he can stomach without putting himself in serious danger of getting sick. Easing himself back into caffeine and refined sugars is probably the better way to go. So he nods, rising from his seat and depositing his cup into the trash as they all head for the door. The door that Deacon holds open for him, earning himself a half-annoyed, half-surprised look from Randall.   
  
It’s annoyingly bright, outside. Randall fumbles for his sunglasses. And… waits for them, for some reason. Standing still, to be polite.   
  
“I understand that you have a medical degree?” Deacon asks, walking in a random direction. At least, Randall thinks it’s random. What he knows about the streets of Sunnydale wouldn’t fill a thimble.   
  
“...Sort of?” Randall says, sounding something other than bitterly resigned for the first time since the conversation started. Being a doctor had always been the dream. “It’s complicated.”   
  
“Enlighten me.”   
  
“I was going to school for it, before. And, while that was no longer possible after… everything. But -”   
  
“I saw value in his knowledge of medicine and had out on-site physician continue to train him.” Ronald interrupted, puffing out his chest.   
  
Yeah. Right. That’s exactly how it happened.   
  
“But, it’s not a typical trade that you can just learn by doing. I have knowledge on how to treat a wide array of wounds, even some small surgeries, but I’m completely lacking terms and a finer understanding of how certain medicines work. And I’m not even sure how much of the vocabulary I do know translates in the states.”  
  
“Well, then, it’s a good thing I don’t need you to perform heart surgery.” Deacon says, dryly. “But what you do know will be useful for your cover here in Sunnydale...oh, come now. Don’t give me that look. Did you think I was going to lock you up inside of a cage?”   
  
“Yes,” Randall says, honestly. What else was he supposed to think?   
  
“Well, I don’t see the value in locking you away.” Deacon insists, ignoring the sharp look he gets from Ronald. “No, it’ll be better for everyone if you can establish a basis in the community - you can hardly keep an eye on things from a basement, now, can you? I understand that Mr. Rupert Giles has a cover working as a librarian at Sunnydale High? That gives him unvetted access to the Slayer whenever he has need of her.”  
  
“Yes, and it only sounds vaguely disturbing when you say it like that.”   
  
Deacon continues on speaking as though Randall hadn’t said anything at all.   
  
“That is why I think it’d be best for us to also take positions as part of the school. Stay in the thick of it, as it is. It so happens that Sunnydale High is in need of a medical professional on campus to deal with… oh, I don’t know, dodgeball injuries and papercuts? And also an English Teacher. A role that I think I am perfectly capable of fulfilling.”   
  
“You want me to be a school nurse?” Randall asks, unsure if he wants to laugh or sneer. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but after fifteen years in isolation, I’m not much of a people person.”   
  
“All the more reason for you to get yourself back out there.”   
  
Randall has no idea what to say to that, so he says nothing at all. Just looking at the street, watching the cars go by, and wondering if it’d be worth it to throw himself under one of them. It probably wouldn’t kill him - Eyghon’s power wouldn’t allow that - but it might knock him out and give him some kind of reprieve from this neverending nonsense.   
  
“...And that’s it? That’s the expectation?”   
  
“Well… not quite.”   
  
Ah, yes. Of course. There’s always more with these people.   
  
“What else?”   
  
“Well, I don’t know where you stayed last night -”   
  
“I was actually with Rupert. He was kind enough to let me crash on his couch.” Randall says, unsure why he’s telling him that. Maybe as some kind of proof that he’s not as alone in this world as Deacon and Ronald seem to think he is.   
  
Ronald harumphs at the mention of his son, his eyes narrowed.  
  
“Oh, yes. Ronald mentioned that you were friends with the active Watcher.”   
  
Friends feels like an understatement. But Randall’s not going to contest it.   
  
“We were.”   
  
“Well, it was kind of him to allow you to stay with him, but that won’t be the case from here on out. We have a space, newly rented. Your things are already waiting for you there.”   
  
“We?” Randall said, not missing that bit.   
  
Deacon suddenly, for the first time, looked a bit uncomfortable.   
  
“Well, yes. See, that’s another part of this…”   
  
Randall narrowed his eyes. Whatever “this” is? He doesn’t like it.   
  
“What?”   
  
“Well… Ronald says that we… ah…”   
  
“Oh, for the love of God.” Ronald interrupts, over Deacon’s stammering. “You two are going to be assuming the cover of...domestic partners of sorts.”   
  
“...Are you fucking insane?”   
  
Randall rounds on him in the blink of an eye, turning so fast that he almost makes himself dizzy and stepping forward until he has Ronald backed up against the side of a random building, lowering his sunglasses so that he can feel the full force of Randall’s glare - pain from natural light be damned.   
  
“No. Absolutely not.”   
  
“Randall, it’s the easiest way to explain both us arriving in Sunnydale at the same time!” Deacon says, jumping forward to try and defend Ronald, without getting too close to the irate Randall. “And the close proximity we’ll be sharing with each other. This is for more than the benefit of the Slayer or even the Council - this is for you, too. Sunnydale is not an ordinary place. There are creatures that inhabit this town. Creatures that would stop at nothing to get their hands on you and the power you possess. If you look less than an average man… if the wrong person starts asking the right questions, you could be in danger.”   
  
“Do you have any idea what you’re telling me?” Randall asked, his voice strangely hoarse now. “You want me to pretend I’m shacking up with you-- you, who is only here to control me and contain me and keep me caged. And, yes, it’s still a cage! A gilded one, maybe, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m a prisoner to the Council. And… and you want me to pretend to be…”   
  
He’s not sure why this is the deal breaker for him. It’s nothing he’s never done before - how many times had he looked Brian in the eyes and promised that he loved him, only out of fear of being hit or cut if he didn’t? How many years had he spent on this godforsaken rock, pretending to feel things that he didn’t, hiding what he did, and playing whatever part he needed to survive? Why does this hit harder than everything else, now?   
  
“We need you to pretend to be my lover, yes.” Deacon said, his tone as formal as ever. Detached. “It’s the simplest explanation.”  
  
“Could have just said we’re related or something.”   
  
“You look nothing alike,” Ronald said, dismissing the idea. “And… well, being related wouldn’t explain this.”   
  
Randall watched as Ronald rifled through his pockets and produced a small, golden band.   
  
“Is that a -”   
  
“Wedding ring? Yes. Technically, you’re not legally bound but it’s not uncommon for couples to exchange rings, anyway. Or, so I’m told. This, however, is more than just a symbol of commitment. It’s to help keep The Sleepwalker under control. You can’t always control it, yes? Well, this will deliver a controlled shock to you if you start to lose it.”  
  
Randall steps back, feeling all the blood drain out of his face.   
  
It… it’s not that he ever particularly imagined a future where he got married. For a multitude of reasons, starting with not believing he’d ever meet anyone who wanted to spend their life with him, to being raised Catholic and understanding that there would always be people in the world who’d rather see him dead than in love with another man, and ending with thinking he’d be locked in that cage forever… but this is still…   
  
The idea that his only experience with this would be a fake union centered around a method of controlling him with electric shocks? That the sanctity of the idea of their being this kind of future for him would be so callously destroyed, bitterly reminding him that there was nothing left in this world for him? It’s too much.   
  
“I…”   
  
“You care about Rupert, don’t you?” Deacon asks, his voice still oddly gentle. “I could see it in your eyes. Well, he’s part of the reason this is necessary. You might care about him, but I doubt Eyghon does. And you carry part of that demon inside of you. If you lost control, you might not be able to stop yourself from hurting him, on your own. But with this, and a little shock, you would be brought back before damaging anyone.”   
  
Randall suddenly wonders what all was in that “little” file of Deacon’s because he’s somehow hit Randall’s “Achilles heel” dead on. No matter what he feels… no matter what he wants, he’ll always cave to the side of sacrificing himself to protect other people.   
  
He steels himself. He’s not Randall, anymore, anyway. He’s… a monster. A weapon. Nothing else matters.   
  
“...Okay.” He says, his throat still tight.   
  
Deacon nods, once, and even looks sorrowful as he takes the ring from Ronald and holds it out for Randall to put on.   
  
“It could be worse…” He says, in what he clearly thinks is a soothing tone. “Ronald’s first idea was to make it a shock collar.”  
  
Randall pretends not to hear that because hearing that would mean that he has to punch Deacon straight in the face for pretending that this is the lesser of two evils. He slides the ring on, not at all surprised to find that it’s a perfect fit, and even less when he realizes that he can’t pull it back off.   
  
“It’s enchanted,” Ronald says, unhelpfully.  
  
“Yeah, I got that.”   
  
Randall’s voice is strained. He swallows hard against the lump in his throat and shoves his hand into his pocket. Out of sight, but not quite out of mind… the wedding band sitting so heavily on his hand that he thinks might drag him all the way down to the hell that this town is supposed to have been built on top of.   
  
“Well, now, that we’re all on the same page…” Ronald says, still smiling coolly. “I’ll be catching the first flight out of Sunnydale… as per my son’s wishes. You’ll give him my best, won’t you? I’ll leave you to get acquainted.”   
  
And then he’s walking away, whistling a cheerful tune, leaving Randall standing next to the stranger he’s somehow just committed himself to...and wondering how the hell he’s going to explain this to Rupert.


End file.
